Marked
by Patchfire
Summary: Slash w/ the boys – Harry & Ron, that is. Part I of a lil' trilogy I'm calling Marked, Branded, Seared. First person POV, so it's a bit different. **Re-loaded 5/15 for better formatting & readability**
1. Part I

_Authors Note: This is Part I of a ficlet trilogy: Marked, Branded, Seared. It's my first 1st person POV fic and that was harder to write than expected. Please review. I was intrigued by the fics I was reading that refered to being marked while in flagrante, but never the fallout from those marks. Hence...  
Warnings: This is slash  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. :-(  
_  
  
He must've done it sometime during the night; we had both woken up around 4, and he came into my bed for awhile, and one thing led to another, as it usually did. Before 6, though, he had to return to his own bed, kissing me lingeringly first. It wasn't safe to be seen together, for anyone to know about us right now. It wouldn't have been easy to just be together, anyway, but since Voldemort wants to kill me and the things I love the most, and he wants to convince my lover to join him and betray me, we really had no choice. We had literally told no one, because that way no one could let it slip, no one could betray us, and no one could get killed because of us.  
  
With all of that, however, we had still found a way to be together. It had started during our fifth year at Hogwarts', and now, almost at the end of our sixth year, we were more in love than ever – and more frightened than ever. I would turn seventeen during the summer, and so Voldemort could face me as an adult wizard after my birthday. For that reason, Dumbledore had requested that I stay at Hogwarts during the summer and continue some practical lessons in Dueling, Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I would still have plenty of free time, he said, and no homework, but it was best that I stay on Hogwarts' protected grounds. My boyfriend, my lover, would be staying with me for six of those weeks, but his mother wanted him home for the first two weeks of the summer. He and I both felt it was not safe, and had written her – again – the night before to tell her so.   
  
So when I slid onto the bench at breakfast, between my two best friends, I didn't realise that there was something I should have been aware of, something I should have hidden. But there was. Hermione was sitting on my left and, halfway through the meal, she looked at me and let out a small yelp.  
  
What is it, Hermione? I asked, startled.  
  
Harry, you've... you've got a _bruise_ on your neck. It looks... it looks like someone tried to bite you!  
  
  
I started. He hadn't bitten me last night, had he? And especially not on my neck he wouldn't. I turned to him, nonchalantly.  
  
Ron? Does it really look like someone tried to bite me? Because I don't remember *anything* happening to my neck.  
  
Ron shot me a glance that said I don't know, I don't remember either, you were there, you know how it was! I acknowledged that, briefly, in an almost imperceptible nod, and then he turned to look at the bruise.  
  
C'mon Hermione, it doesn't look like a bite, just a nasty bruise. Harry probably just fell out of bed weirdly or something. I glared at him playfully, and he just grinned. The imp.  
  
Hermione frowned. I don't know. There's something about it that's odd.... Her voice trailed off, considering. She shrugged then. Maybe not, then. I don't know. With that, she gathered her books and stood. I'll see you in Charms, then.  
  
Ron and I stared after her, and I lowered my voice. Does it really look like a bite?  
  
Ron bit his lip and nodded. I swear, I don't remember doing that! But it does look like I did, I suppose.  
  
I grimaced. Just like us, I thought, to be so careful and blow it on a moment of passion. It's not your fault, I said quietly. I wasn't stopping it – whenever it was. Then I stood. I'd best go to the loo and check it out.  
  
Ron nodded and followed me as I walked quickly out of the hall and into the loo, extremely grateful that the boys' room, unlike the girls', was not haunted. I stopped in front of the mirror and twisted my head to one side.  
  
Ooh, my dear, someone must either love you or hate you very much, the mirror crooned.  
  
I snapped, and then turned to Ron.  
  
You know as well as I do I can't go to Madam Pomfrey. Word would get out quicker from that than anything. What's a good excuse, a reason? I was scrambling.  
  
Ron pondered. I think you would get a bruise like that if you hit a bedpost, or maybe a stair banister. Nothing else, though, and those aren't extremely close.  
  
I sighed. I guess we'll have to make the best of it. Someone was bound to find out sometime, no matter how careful we were. I just hope you realise this means we may have to go to Dumbledore if your mum doesn't give in about the summer. This makes it all the more dangerous.  
  
Ron nodded slowly, both of us pondering sadly that we couldn't be like every other couple, gay or straight, at Hogwarts. How we had to keep it hidden. How I could be said to have sworn off dating because of Voldemort, but Ron had to do something, and in desperation had taken at least 20 girls out on dates in the past year. The dates were hard on Ron, hard on me, and hard on the girls. Finally, in desperation, he told Hermione that he was gay, but he was going to tell all the girls he was hopelessly in love with her and couldn't date anyone else until she was free. Seeing as she had been going with Viktor Krum since their fourth year and he had given her a promise ring for Christmas, that was highly unlikely, but it had served its purpose.   
  
Ron and I had Divination first. It was only Gryffindors in our class, and I saw a few eyes dart to my neck as we arrived on the landing below the trapdoor.   
  
Seamus was the one who finally spoke. What happened to your neck?  
  
I started slightly. Oh, nothing, I said lightly. Just an unfortunate run in with one of the staircases.  
  
He stared, as if unbelieving, but said and let the matter drop. I breathed a sigh of relief. A moment later, the trapdoor opened and the silvery ladder descended. We all climbed up and Ron and I settled in our usual spots.  
  
Professor Trelawney swooped in in her usual manner and sat down with her bracelets and necklaces tinkling. Today, my children, we are going to use the Ouiji Board to communicate with the spirits and the fates, she intoned in a mysterious-sounding voice.  
  
I looked at Ron and rolled my eyes. Ten Knuts that the spirits and the fates say that I will die a gruesome death.  
  
Ron grinned in reply, then a thought flitted across his face. I read it; six years of being best friends and a year and a half as lovers as well as given me that ability, even as he can read my expressions and thoughts from a mere glance. This one said, loud and clear, that he hoped Trelawney wouldn't notice the bite mark. I grimaced and nodded my agreement. The exchange was quick; most people would never notice it. Exchanges like it were how we survived in all our secrecy.  
  
We made it through Divination without a word about my, er, bruise, and Ron and I slowly made our way to Charms. We were trying to pay especial attention in the courses I would continue over the summer; since Ron was also staying, we had argued with Dumbledore that he be allowed to take them as well. Dumbledore had glanced at our faces, set and resolved, and did not argue. Perhaps he planned it that way all along; I no longer trust Dumbledore implicitly as I once did.  
  
In Charms, we met up with Hermione again, and the three of us settled down to learn ever more complex charms. We had worked on combining two charms together; in the past year we had done some charms that consisted of three simpler ones. Now, as the year drew to a close, we were to begin to learn charms that consisted of four or more simpler ones. It was hard work, and we had to practise hard. Hermione still had excellent grades, of course, but both Ron's and my marks had improved as we continually left behind theoretical and concentrated on the practical, left behind the simpler and concentrated on the complex. Ron's marks were higher than mine in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, although I took after my father and had higher marks than Hermione even in Transfiguration. Today in Charms we were working on a disarm and disable charm. It involved using _expelliarmus_ (still one of my favorites, as Ron and Hermione like to tease me), as well as a directing charm, a breaking charm, and one of several possible binding charms. Later on, Professor Flitwick, you could add portions to the charm that would make the snapped wand invisible, or would render your opponent unconscious. Ron and I glanced at each other. This was something that was Important and Necessary; we cracked open our books and went to work, throwing ourselves at it with a gusto. Ron paired up with Neville while I partnered Hermione; we didn't want to always appear with each other. By the end of the class, Neville and Hermione were the only partners who were bound, bereft of the sticks that were imitating wands for the purpose of the exercise. Ron and I smiled at each other, glad to have mastered the charm, and then helped Neville and Hermione as we went down to lunch.  
  
After lunch we had double Potions. I didn't see why we had to continue Potions lessons, to be perfectly honest. Granted, as seventh years we were allowed to drop Potions OR Herbology if desired, and History of Magic would disappear for all seventh years, but, really, why did we have Potions at all anymore? None of the Gryffindors enjoyed it or excelled at it, and Snape was constantly reminding us that none of us would achieve any N.E.W.T.s in Potions, even if we had wanted to take that particular subset. Groaning, I entered the dungeon and was shocked by what I saw. Then I saw red.  
  
Draco Malfoy had Ron's arms pinned above his head, and Crabbe and Goyle were holding his ankles against the wall. Worst of all, Malfoy was forcing his tongue down Ron's throat; _ my_ Ron's throat, I thought crazily, and, before I knew what I was doing, I was dragging Malfoy away from Ron, just as Ron's eyes had been pleading with me to do. As I pounded Malfoy's slimy face into the stone floor, I heard the sounds of Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Ron scuffling with Crabbe and Goyle. Finally I released Malfoy and stalked over to my seat. Crabbe and Goyle walked over to their seats and Ron shakily rejoined me. His eyes were big and I was heartbroken for him. The skin around his mouth was cracked, and I saw blood seeping from his gums. His eyes were horrified. I could read the underlying expression: what the fuck was that, oh Harry, that was horrible, you cannot imagine, why oh why did he do that to me, oh I just want you to hold me but I know you can't, not here, especially not now. The thoughts went on. I bit my lip and hoped my eyes were conveying what I was thinking: I'm so sorry, I love you so much, he's going to pay for this, a thousand times over. Snape swept in the room then. We had all learned by then to be done with fighting before Snape entered the classroom. At first, the Slytherins didn't mind, as he didn't take points from them. But Lucius Malfoy must've done something to make Snape angry, because he was now as vindictive with Draco Malfoy as he was with me. I sent Draco a last glare before turning to the front of the room. I saw his eyes light up, though, when I turned and he saw my neck.   
  
My worst fears were confirmed when, once we began working, Malfoy sidled up beside me. Been playing with werewolves again, Potter? Or some...one else?  
  
I stiffened slightly, trying not to betray my nervousness. No, Malfoy, sorry to disappoint you, though. I fell. Stairs, banister.  
  
Clumsy for a Seeker, Potter. I stiffened visibly then and turned away. Oh please, let him think that upset me, and not the first comment. Oh please. We had never come so close to be discovered, and now, so many times in one day. All because we cannot keep our hands off each other. This should be a good thing, not a bad one.  
  
After Potions, Ron and I both have Quidditch practise. We're the co-captains of the team and we've had a major rebuilding of the team this year. I'm Seeker as I have been for six years now, and Ron took over as Keeper last year. We finally convinced Dean to try Quidditch and now he's as obsessed with it as he once was with soccer. He and Colin Creevey are our Beaters. The Chasers are Parvati Patil (boy were we surprised to find out how well she could play), Ron's sister Ginny, and a tiny second year named Matilda Brown. We were changing in the locker rooms when Colin noticed the bruise on my neck.  
  
All right, Harry? Someone been trying to bite you, Harry?  
  
I glance up, annoyed. Colin Creevey can be just as annoying as he was the first day we met, five years before. Dean notices the glance, and saves me answering. Leave off, Colin, we've all had accidents with the stairs.  
  
I smile at him in surprised gratitude; he merely shrugs. Tired from Quidditch, I take a long shower. At least, I tell myself it's only because I am tired from Quidditch. Actually, I'm taking a long time so Ron and I can walk up to the castle alone. We need to talk – alone – desperately. The day has been frightening. Finally, I hear Dean and Colin leave, and Ron calls that he'll wait for me. I emerge from the shower and reach out my hand. Ron takes it and we sit, staring at each other for a long time.  
  
Finally, I broke the silence. I'm gonna kill Malfoy.  
  
Ron breaks eye contact, glances at the ground. He's... ashamed?  
  
I asked quietly. Love... it's not something to be ashamed of. You couldn't stop him.  
  
That seems to break the tension, and Ron begins to sob. I know. I know. But I feel so, so _dirty_. So used.  
  
This only makes me more angry as I embrace Ron and he cries out the pain and the anger he's holding inside. Malfoy must pay, I think. Malfoy must pay in a big way. Finally spent, Ron looks up into my eyes, then touches my bite mark.   
  
I really don't remember doing that, he says, shaking his head slightly. I smile.  
  
I don't remember you doing it, for that matter, I said, my voice amused. Honestly, I... I rather like it. Wearing something that marks me as yours. I just wish....  
  
The wish goes unspoken. It's our greatest wish, what we long for more than anything else. The wish to be public with our relationship. The wish to admit our feelings for one another to even one other person. We've toyed with the idea of telling Sirius for the past year. I'm afraid to put him in more danger than he already is. Ron points out that if it's a secret, no one knows to ask him the question, but... surely Voldemort asks who I love. He wants to hurt me, to cause me pain. Not telling anyone that I love Ron protects Ron. That's a hard cross to bear.  
  
Ron nods. I know. I wish, too.  
  
Finally, we knew we had to go to dinner, or our day of close shaves would become even worse. And it did.  
  



	2. Part II

  
  
  
Dinnertime. I've been asked by several people about the bruise today, but now here comes Professor Lupin, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I love Remus, don't get me wrong; he was one of my father's closest friends and he's like a second godfather to me. Why else would I call him Remus? I even suspect that he and Sirius are close like Ron and I are, not just friends. But he's a professor, and he's a prominent figure in the fight against Voldemort. But, but... like I said, he and Sirius... well, he will know. He will know what my bruise' really is, what it means. He will know like no one else in the school knew, and he will want to talk to me about it.  
  
Harry, my boy, how are you – His voice cuts off as he stares at my neck. I raise my eyes, pleading with him, not to notice, not to say a word, nothing, please, oh god, please. But he doesn't have Ron's practise reading my thoughts, I suppose, and he starts his sentence again. Do you mind coming to my rooms at 8 tonight? Your godfather would like to see you. His eyebrow quirks. That's his code that, this time, it's just him, and Sirius isn't here. I sigh heavily, but pretend to act pleased for the benefit of the rest of the table. Ron catches my eye; there's a question in it. I nod wearily, and he blanches.  
  
  
At eight o'clock, I head out of the common room towards Remus' apartments. Ron gives me one last look. Courage, it seems to say to me. Have courage. I sigh and return his look with a smile. I will try. Always I will try.  
  
I knock on Remus' door and he ushers me in. Sit down, Harry, sit down. He pulls out a bottle of butterbeer, opens it, and gives it to me. I take a swig, hoping it will calm the butterflies invading my stomach. It doesn't.  
  
he begins. I hardly think I'd be doing the job properly if I didn't at least comment on your new... decoration. He laughs halfheartedly. I scowl.  
  
Come on, Harry, it's not so bad. If you wanted it a secret, you would have been more careful.  
  
When my voice comes out, it's a low, guttural growl. After a year and a half, you might have a moment or two that your guard slips, too.  
  
I'm perversely pleased by the shocked reaction on his face. But why, Harry? Why keep it a secret? It's not someone dreadful, like that Parkinson girl in Slytherin, is it?  
  
I gag at the thought. I haven't thought about women in ages, and Pansy Parkinson is unattractive to all but the most desperate heterosexual males. I sigh. No, no, no. Don't you think we might would like to tell? Don't you think it drives us crazy? You're the only person who even knows I'm in love, besides... the person. And now you have information that makes you more *valuable* to Voldemort. Information that places this person at more of a risk than they already are! Voldemort's after me, in case you had forgotten. That's reason enough to conceal it!  
  
Remus is taken aback. I've never yelled at my godfathers before, either of them. The chance to have some semblance of a family that loves me, weird as it is, has kept me in check. But now Remus... now Remus has endangered all three of us, and I have to stop him from telling Sirius. Must stop him.   
  
You _must not_ tell anyone about this. Anyone! Not McGonagall, not Dumbledore... not ever Sirius. You _must not_. Don't you think I – we – have thought about this. We HATE it. But we know it keeps us safe, both of us. So we live with it. And now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone I need that needs me as well. Still angry, I stride from the room, heading straight for the room behind the mirror that was created when a passageway to Hogsmeade collapsed.  
  
I walk through the mirror. He's waiting. Thank God. I cast barrier spells, locking charms, stunning spells, and a memory ward on the mirror, then step closer to him, wrapping him in my arms. Ron, Ron, oh god. I pull back from him then, softly kissing the edges of his mouth where Draco Malfoy raped his mouth. That's what it was, rape. No other name for it, no way to make it nice. I hold him tightly, like I'll never let go. I love you, Ron, so much.  
  
I love you too, Harry, oh I couldn't bear it if anything happened. He's quiet for a minute, but then he asks. I knew he would; I knew he must. What... what happened with Moony?  
  
Only between the two of us do we call them Padfoot and Moony. We have nicknames, too, and a new Marauders' Map. Sirius and Remus helped us last summer, when I got to go stay with Remus for a week. They wanted to call me Prongs Jr. but I told them I wasn't a bloody stag so that was out. Ron and I do want to become Animagi, but I think that's what the summer is for, so we've held off. If it's not, we have plenty of time over the summer to work on it. I know what I want to be, though. I want to be a wolf. I can pass for a dog that way, but also survive, really survive, in the wild. I wrote a letter to Moony about it, if he would be okay with it. It was too hard to ask face to face, but he stopped me in the halls later to say it wouldn't bother him a bit. So somehow I became Alpha. Ron wants to fly, he says, but everything that flies has a very small brain. So he's going to become a wildcat. Bigger than a housecat, but small enough to go about undetected at times. This desire has earned him the nickname Tiger. A pack of two. Two's enough, though.  
  
I realise I still haven't answered his question, and open my mouth to reply. He was joking at first. I had to yell, finally, he just didn't understand it wasn't some silly game. But he doesn't know how or even gender.  
  
A small smile appears on Ron's face, the first genuine one since breakfast on this disastrous day. He hold me close; the bite is fading, and by the weekend everything will have blown over. He is safe now; we are safe.  



End file.
